


the (real) start of something new

by orphan_account



Series: something new [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak POV, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26326930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: eddie kaspbrak and richie tozier have been long-distance dating since derry 2.0, but they haven't seen each other in person until right now. a little story about the awkwardness that comes with dating a long time friend, the internal debate of buying them flowers, cuddling when you're really not sure how to, and of course, a first kiss.based the three word prompt "rose, movie, and neck-pillow!"
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: something new [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913032
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	the (real) start of something new

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to my friend ely for giving me the words for this fic! 
> 
> i haven't written anything that i felt was post-worthy in almost 3 whole years, but i actually really liked this one! i hope you do too! this is also the first part of a series that has no definite "end", but all of the installments are part of this three word story prompt challenge i gave myself, and all of them are reddie-centric. thanks again !!

this flight, at 1pm on august 27th, 2017, is the first flight eddie has taken since his trip to derry. he hadn't taken many before derry due to his own personal issues (airplanes are, literally always, disgusting) and hadn't taken any after because of his doctor’s orders; something about flying being a bad idea when you’ve got a gaping, almost-mortal wound in your chest. he had never, before this one, been excited for a single one. 

eddie can hardly wait to board.

instead, much to his dismay, he's been waiting in the seating area for fucking hours. he always shows up early no matter where he’s going, but he _might've_ overreacted with this one. something about the combination of buying fast-check to get through security and still showing up five hours early might've been a bad idea. whatever, it doesn't matter, they're calling sections, now, and soon eddie will be sitting on the most important plane ride of his life.

well, second-most, depending on how high up you want to put "murdering a space clown that might've caused the end of the world at some point". but eddie's got a pretty good reason to be getting on this one, too.

eddie kaspbrak, 41 years old and newly divorced, has a boyfriend. yes, a boyfriend, after years of being married to a woman and assuming his weird half-obsession with derek from accounting was a 'phase'. he is flying out all the way to LA just to see said boyfriend. who he will be spending several weeks with. on vacation. the only vacation eddie has taken since college.

oh, and his boyfriend? _richie fucking tozier._

yeah, that snot-nosed little kid whose glasses took up more of his face than his fucking features? the one who made him laugh until he cried, made him so angry he could barely breathe in the same hour, made him feel so much in such little time? the kid eddie followed around like a fucking duckling all through middle school? yeah, that kid is now huge and hot and successful and oh, yeah, he's liked eddie since he was that little kid, even when he thought there was no chance in hell richie would want to glance his way. he was looking, too.

eddie might fucking die.

the flight attendant calls his section. he stands up and gets in line, shuffles around on his feet and taps a few emails into his phone. work stuff. he won’t be returning for three weeks, so they’ve got a lot of stuff to do in his absence. 

he and richie haven't seen each other in person since derry. there was a long, drawn-out hospital stay, of course, but after eddie got transferred to new york and richie's manager was threatening to fire him if he stayed any longer, they had to separate. they've been texting since then. and calling. calling and calling. eddie doesn't think he's ever talked to another human being this much. he opens his phone again to text richie an update:

eddie: hi

richie: hey!!

eddie: boarding now. see you soon

richie: ur going to get here so late 😔

eddie: well.

eddie: it means i get to spend all day with you tomorrow.

richie: nvm i am fine

richie: see you soon!! 💛

eddie: ❤️

eddie hands the flight attendant his ticket. she’s a young woman, with her blonde hair tied back tight and a look on her face that everyone who’s had a job before can recognize as ‘tired, but i have to be here for 8 more god damn hours’. eddie almost feels bad. she scans it and hands it back, false grin plastered on her face. he responds, possibly for the first time in his life, with a genuine smile.

his seat is in the aisle: always is, in case he has to pee during the flight, even though the pills he pops beforehand promise a full 8 hours with absolutely no interruptions. before he puts his carry-on in the upper compartment, he clips off the neck pillow that he got for christmas last year. 

_"it's a silly present," bev had said, quietly, over drinks at the end of the night. her wedding ring tan had finally faded into nothing. she absently moved her fingers over it as she spoke, "but i saw it and thought of you."_

_eddie flipped it over in his hands. it's a simple thing -- dark blue and soft to the touch. he had propped it up on his neck in an attempt to make her laugh, but she had just shook her head. "i like it," he said, "i fly a lot, so it'll be helpful."_

_"yeah," she smiled, and then, quieter than before, "as long as you've got a pillow you've got a place to rest your head."_

_eddie had smiled back, genuine and kind. he had gone home that night and clipped it onto his carry-on, and there it had stayed for the indeterminable future._ up until today, really.

he pulls it out of the clips and drops it on his seat, takes a moment to grab a comfortable blanket out of his bag and drops that, too. he's had enough freezing plane trips to know better than not bring a blanket for the ride.

he gets comfortable, pops his pills, and settles in while the flight attendants make their speech. if he's lucky, he'll wake up just as they land.

eddie is lucky. 

the turbulence caused by the tarmac wakes him up just as they pull into LA. gross and groggy, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts richie that he’s here. richie, always enthusiastic, responds with about four hundred exclamation points and some unrelated emojis, so eddie, wearing a reluctant smile, assumes he already knew that.

the layout of an unknown airport is always confusing. however, triumphant, eddie makes his way through the slew of shops and other travelers and finds his bags at baggage claim. rolls them (one bag and a backpack, which is a big upgrade from his previous 2 fully packed bags, backpack, and carry-on) carefully down the escalators and around the different terminals until he finds his way.

eddie’s never been to LA. he’s always had this weird disdain for the city. to him, it’s somewhere people go to achieve something unattainable. to ‘follow their dreams’, as they usually say, fuck off from their home towns and work hard on their daddy’s money to become half-baked celebrities that usually end up in more scandals than movies. eddie had never been that kind of person. he had followed the same set of rules his mother gave him whether he realized it or not: get a job, a wife, a house. a sensible little life for a sensible little boy.

when richie had said, sitting at that table in derry, that at the start of his career he had moved to LA from chicago, eddie felt weird. richie wasn’t made for LA, he’d find real success elsewhere. he’d find it in maine if he stayed, he’d find it in chicago or some other city if he left. he’d never, ever been someone who was going to live in LA. but something about the way he’d said it: with a twinkle in his eye, maybe, made the disgusting sheen eddie had always coated LA with in his mind clear a little. it had turned into just a city, and then it had turned into _richie’s_ city, and now it was never going to be anything other than that. richie wasn’t built for LA, LA was built for richie. 

richie has, whether luckily or unluckily, always been easy to spot -- especially for eddie, who's always looking out for him. he's big, yes, big and tall and always wearing these dramatic colors that make him stand out in the sea of browns and blacks, but he's also richie. richie who can draw a crowd with a few simple jokes and can make himself the center of attention without even doing anything at all. 

or maybe that's just eddie-vision. maybe richie is always at the center of that.

"richie!" he calls out, and richie turns fast at the sound of his voice, but he's not fast enough. eddie practically crashes full-force into his side and they both lose balance. he shifts his stance to catch them both, but they still end up leaning dangerously close to falling for a second or two.

eddie, strangely overjoyed with the fact that he’s seeing the person he’s solely online-dated since the events in derry, rubs his face into the fabric of his hawaiian shirt a little nonsensically. he smells like old spice and, strangely enough, cigarette smoke, though eddie’s sure he hasn’t smoked in years. the single exception being the night before the sewers, a drag from a cigarette even he himself had bummed off bev to relieve some stress. the scent of it has tangled itself with the strings of the fabric and has staked its claim. eddie doesn’t mind it. it’s richie, after all.

"hi," eddie says, softer, when the two of them have regained balance and adjusted their posture a little bit. richie wraps his arms around eddie's back and squeezes, laughing. there's something plastic and flat pressing up against the back of eddie's neck. he squirms until richie removes the hand that’s holding it, hovering it awkwardly behind him without ever really breaking the hug. 

"hey," richie says, laughter still evident in the tone of his voice. eddie squeezes him a little tighter, and richie makes a little 'oof' sound in response. "god,” he says, and eddie bends his neck until he can see his face, “you almost took me the fuck out."

"sorry." he’s not.

"it was cute, you dork. here, look."

richie pulls both his arms up and pries at eddie's until he pulls off too. eddie, while pulling away, does not make a little squeaky noise of disdain, no matter what richie says. don't listen to him. 

richie chuckles again. his arms are hidden behind his back now and his eyes are darting back and forth from eddie and the floor, like he's trying to communicate something solely through telepathy. sadly, in the 35 or so years they've known each other, eddie has not yet developed extrasensory perception specifically tuned to richie's brainwaves (as much as bev would like to argue that fact), so he just stares back.

"what?" eddie says, a little annoyed. he hasn't touched richie in months. the last time they _had_ touched, eddie had been curled up in a hospital bed, which is not exactly ideal. he would very much like to get back to doing that now, even if they're in the middle of a crowded airport terminal, "what are you doing?"

"i, uh," richie says, shifting on his feet. eddie crosses his arms over his chest. he's starting to feel a little uncomfortable now, actually: what are they doing? eddie comes all the way to LA just to see richie and all they do is hug once and then what? stand around in the airport for an amount of time that's slowly becoming strange? wait until they get kicked out? eddie would be fine with getting kicked out if he was still hugging richie. 

he internally cringes at the thought. moves his hand back to the handle of his suitcase and grips it a little tighter. rolls it back and forth a little bit until it overbalances and knocks him in the ankle. the pain of it makes him jolt, and the noise he makes in response causes richie to make eye contact for a split second before averting his gaze again.

richie makes him act weird. loving richie makes him act weird, more like. he doesn't really want all of these people staring at him, arms wrapped around richie or not. god, what the fuck happened to him?

 _this is a good thing_ , eddie reminds himself. _loving richie is a good thing._

"oh, fuck it," richie mumbles, and pulls his hands out from behind his back. in his right hand he's holding a large bouquet of roses: red, peach, pink, and lavender, wrapped in thin pink plastic and tied at the bottom with a large yellow bow. there’s a card hanging from the ribbon, but the text is too small for eddie to read what it says. looks like a lot, though. the bouquet itself is... huge, even compared to richie. it almost obscures his entire face when he holds it to his chest. eddie has no fucking idea how he missed it, earlier.

"richie," eddie starts, awed and quiet, but richie's mouth is already moving a mile a minute. when eddie catches up to what he's saying, he's stammering through his words and his face has turned a color that almost matches the flowers.

"it's stupid, like," he gestures wildly to the flowers with his free hand and then runs it through his hair. it sticks up in several different directions, with pieces stuck halfway underneath his glasses that curve out into little half-circles. eddie finds it stupidly endearing. "i don't know what i was thinking, maybe i watched too many fuckin' romcoms in my twenties, but i thought like, ‘hey, flowers are nice!’ but now i'm thinking this is really --"

"richie," eddie says, a little more insistent, gesturing with no meaning just to get his attention. a petal falls off one of the roses and lands on richie’s shoulder. eddie reaches forward and brushes it off, watches it float down to the floor. richie continues on, unbothered:

"stupid, y'know? like, god, this is so -- i can just toss them out. there's gotta be a fuckin' trashcan, or something. if you don't want them, i mean. which you don't, because they're weird and like, childish, and stuff, but i also spent a lot of fuckin' money on them, so i don't really want to just toss 'em. oh, god, the fuckin’ note, too, i might just toss that one out myself. ah, shit, well," richie starts mumbling to himself, and eddie's had enough.

he grabs one of richie's wrists, the one the flowers are held incredibly tightly in. it's not a hurtful grasp but it's a firm one, and it makes richie's mumbling die down a bit as his face snaps up to make eye contact. eddie moves the flowers away and grabs his other, gesturing hand in one smooth motion. he’s got richie’s full attention, now. they also both look like weirdos, standing in the middle of an airport and grabbing at each other like children.

"i love them," eddie says, as calmly as he can. their combined hands are so, so sweaty, but eddie can't really tell whose fault it is. a minute ago he’d say it was his. now, after richie’s panicked rant, he’s not so sure. richie's mouth stops moving. whatever he was saying under his breath (something that kind of sounded like "sorry, dude") dies off immediately. "they're really sweet. thank you, richie."

"ah," richie says, and then pulls the hand holding the flowers out of eddie's grip and brings them up to his chest again, between them. he holds them in front of his face like a mask, though eddie can see his dark hairs poking out above it like a halo. eddie bites down the urge to smooth down the hair that’s sticking up -- it’s a constant problem. "yeah, well, you're welcome."

eddie wants to see richie's face again, but he's pretty insistent on hiding it behind the mass of flowers no matter how far eddie leans to the side. he sighs and steps back again. grabs the handle of his suitcase so he doesn't forget it. the metal of the handle is cool in his hand. grounding. "jesus, rich, how much did you spend on this? it's huge."

richie makes a strangled noise like he's trying to hold back a joke. he shuffles back and forth again on his feet. his shoes aren’t the same he wore in derry (that would be disgusting, drenched in sewer water), but they are just as nostalgic. neon red and covered in scribbles. eddie raises an eyebrow. smiles. "like, massive, dude,” eddie holds back a laugh, “i don't know how they'll fit in a vase, the," he bites his cheek to hold back a wider smile. watches as richie peeks out from the flowers, just a little bit. his glasses are going to get smudged by the petals. "the hole might be too small for it,” he waits for a reaction, and then when he doesn’t get one, continues: “like of the vase?”

"god, fuckin' stop it," richie says, and then he keels over in laughter. mission success: eddie can see richie's smile, now. it's so wide it almost looks like it hurts. as he laughs, eddie can see the pink on his cheeks fade to a softer color. the shade looks good on him. all of his freckles are on full display, drawn out by the summer sun. "what the hell, man, i was trying to be sweet,” he says once his breathing has evened out.

"you are sweet," eddie says. he ducks down so he can grab the flowers from richie's grip, but richie reels back up to a standing position before he can. eddie can hear his knees pop with the motion but makes no mention of it. he steadies himself and hands eddie the flowers formally, with a little dramatic bow for flair. "oh, what happened to being embarrassed about them?" 

eddie watches his curls, subtle yet still visible, bounce wildly when his head snaps back up. "you said you liked 'em, dude, no coming back from that."

"i do like them." eddie holds them close to his face, just under his chin. he can smell them now, the distinct scent of ‘flower’ that’s hard to identify as anything other than ‘fresh’ or ‘nice’. richie's grin turns fond. "can we go to the car, now, or are we gonna stand in the airport for my whole fuckin' trip?"

"oh, shit, yeah. lemme," richie says, and then gestures towards eddie's baggage. he would argue, but he's also not against seeing the way richie's arms flex when he picks up something rather heavy, so he nods and lets richie take his suitcase away. richie, exactly like he predicted, pushes down the rolling handle and carries it like a bag. the fabric of his short sleeves stretches with the movement of his muscles. eddie does not stare.

they go out the door and to the parking lot together, right where richie's stupid red corvette sits. eddie’s suprised the thing doesn’t have a fucking racing stripe down the side, accented with flames or something equally as ridiculous. it's an open roof car, exactly like the one he rented when he flew back into derry, and it’s “--so fucking easy to steal, man."

"what the hell do you mean?" richie says, in a tone that sounds like he knows exactly what eddie means. he tosses eddie's suitcase and backpack in the backseat. he moves behind eddie, and with a hand on the small of his back to balance him he slides the carry-on off his shoulder and drops it in the back seat as well. eddie full body shivers.

"like," he says, and then shakes his head, "dude, you left the top off. you didn't -- what the fuck is the point of locking it?" eddie says, when richie clicks the button on his keys and the car beeps. richie just grins at him as he climbs into the drivers side seat. over the door, like, actually climbs into it, his long fucking legs on display in his stupid fucking shorts. he waits to respond until eddie reluctantly takes the seat next to him, still trying to balance the massive bouquet in his lap. he fiddles with the ribbon between his fingers.

"nobody's stolen it yet," richie says nonchalantly, and it sends eddie into an amazing rage and triggers an enthusiastic, half-joking mostly-serious rant that lasts for almost the entire car ride home. richie's laugh is loud enough to hear all the way in oregon, probably. maybe even maine. 

they make it to richie’s home in record time. richie pulls into the driveway in a smooth, coordinated motion, and eddie tries very hard to look unimpressed.

his house is...

well, honestly smaller than eddie had expected. he lives up in this gated community with a few other celebrities, so he has to show his id card when they drive through the gate, but his actual house is kind of quaint. it's a two story with a little garden and a pool out back, and eddie can't tell if richie's done any gardening himself or if he's hired someone to do it for him. when he asks as they get out of the car, richie says something along the lines of 'they'd yell at me if it didn't look nice,' so eddie's question is never really answered.

the inside is nice, too. not really 'richie', but more like someone had looked at richie and said yeah, maybe, and splashed like 2 or 3 things around the house to add some personal flair. the furniture is all clearly picked out by a professional (meaning it matches, when eddie expected either solid gold "how rich do you think i am?" or trash-picked "ok, that's more like it.") there's some posters of old, campy horror movies on the walls and an arcade machine in the corner. his tv is fucking huge, and the set it's sitting in is full of dvds and old-fashioned video games. it looks like richie hasn't gotten a new console since 1994.

it's open plan, which eddie doesn't like very much, but he's not going to complain about it yet. the door to the backyard also functions as a large window, and the kitchen is surprisingly clean for someone who acts like richie. he dreads to see what the inside of the refrigerator looks like. eddie’d bet money that he has some condiments from the bush administration.

"guest bedroom's upstairs," richie says, and gestures vaguely in the direction of the staircase by the main doorway. there’s a few family photos hanging up on the slant of the wall, but none that richie seems to be the primary focus of. mostly his sister and his parents. "and a bathroom, if you wanna put your hygiene stuff in there. i know you've got a lot of it."

eddie's still standing in the doorway with his bags. his face falls a little when he asks, "guest bedroom?"

"uh," richie says, and the blood-red tint in his face comes back, "i mean, my room's up there too, if you -- wanted to -- use that. you don't have to, though." he makes kind of a strange face after saying it, like something mike keeps calling a ‘white person smile’ mixed with a panicked prey animal. eddie offers a concerned expression in return.

"i do want that, if it's okay," eddie says, and adjusts the bag on his shoulder with a weird little shrug. richie watches the movement and reaches his hand out to help, moving and adjusting the strap until it lays in a more comfortable position across his body. "richie?” 

"yeah, of course it's okay."

so they head upstairs together, and richie shows eddie where his room is and then promptly fucks off to the connected bathroom, locking the door behind him. eddie sighs and tosses his luggage up onto the bed. it bounces.

the room is similar to the rest of the house. furniture that richie clearly didn't pick out, decorations that he clearly did, but this time there's an added intimacy to it. this is richie's bedroom, where he sleeps, and presumably eats and drinks, and also, definitely, puts his hand on his dick a lot. eddie would feel a lot better about that thought if richie's 'closet' wasn't just an open door and a pile of clothes on the ground. the one thing hanging up, and that's a loose term, considering it's barely hanging on, is a suit jacket that looks 2 sizes too small and that clearly hasn't been worn in years, if the dust collecting on the shoulders is anything to go by. it's also neon fucking green, which eddie kind of hates.

"where do you want me to put my shit?" eddie calls out to the translucent door of richie's bathroom. he gets a sort of 'i dunno' sound in response, so eddie proceeds to open his suitcase, grab a new, more comfortable, less airport gross outfit to change into, and then zip the entire thing back up and toss it to the end of the bed. he does the same with his carry-on and backpack, after he's grabbed a toothbrush and a few other hygiene products.

richie comes out of the bathroom and smiles at his pajamas pants. they're red, kind of plaid, and hung haphazardly over his arm. he's carrying his bathroom supplies in the same hand: a toothbrush and some fancy toothpaste, his specific brand of face wash. "you look like a kid having a sleepover."

"i kind of feel like one," eddie admits with a shrug.

"yeah, we used to do this a lot." richie scoots past him and makes his way to the door again, stopping in the doorframe and leaning his body against it. he crosses his arms across his chest and eddie can see his biceps on full display. especially now that he’s shed his outer layer and his tee shirt is just old enough that the fabric is fading away, little by little. there’s a hole at the top of his collar that endears eddie far more than it should.

"little different this time, though," richie says, and then whips around and immediately heads downstairs. eddie's starting to think that richie might explode if he has to be sincere in person for more than thirty seconds. usually, he can do it for maybe a minute on the phone before he starts making barf noises and has to make jokes to ease the tension.

"little different," eddie repeats to the empty room. he makes his way into the bathroom and cleans himself up. strips down out of his airplane clothes and pulls on new boxers and his pajama pants. after his face is clean and his teeth are brushed, he steps back into richie’s room and immediately heads to his dresser.

he sorts through the drawers until he finds one that’s obviously older shirts, things with fading logos and bright colors that dimmed over time. he pulls out one at random and slips it over his head. pulls at the edge to look at the design. it’s one of the randomly generated ones that he keeps getting ads for online, but the slew of badly designed graphics and words basically boils down to “don’t mess with dads who love their ferrets”. he sighs.

when eddie gets downstairs, richie's lounging on the couch in what looks like an uncomfortable position. he’s also watching the tv at a volume slightly louder than what eddie considers 'normal human enjoyment volume', but he reaches for the controller and turns it down when he sees eddie approaching.

"hey,” he says, and his eyes fall on his own tee shirt on eddie’s chest. he smiles.

"hi." richie slides down the couch to give eddie enough room to sit next to him. there's a significant distance between them, and it's enough to make eddie feel kind of silly. at the same time, he's also a little afraid to get any closer.

the hugging was different: it was personal but also public, they were being watched by a crowd. but this? this is intimate. eddie hasn't done intimate yet. not with richie, not since they were kids, and certainly not romantically. they haven't even kissed yet. eddie had tried, in derry, but richie was a little inconsolable for the twenty-or-so minutes post confession, and by the time he'd calmed down the moment had passed. every other chance was interrupted: a nurse came in early, mike had just one more thing he wanted to say, bill was calling and it was apparently about something insanely urgent (spoilers: it was not), so eddie eventually just gave up. told himself he'd have another chance soon enough every time, up until richie had a flight home and eddie was due for New York.

the talking on the phone was nice. it’s a little sad to say, but the barrier between them over the phone, as much as eddie hated it, made the whole situation feel a little safer. eddie loves richie, he does, but something about this being real, in person, is suddenly... scary. to eddie's credit, he's pretty sure richie feels the exact same way. he’s never seen him bail from a conversation so quickly, and he was friends with richie in high school.

eddie remembers the bouquet of flowers sitting on richie's (now eddie's? who needs two bedside tables when you live alone anyway, moron) bedside table. he thinks of the note he read, earlier, shuffling on his feet and deciding if he really had the confidence to wear one of richie’s shirts downstairs. he wants that bedside table to really be his, one day, to put his flowers in a vase that he bought and say yes, this is _my_ side of the bed, because i live here with my _boyfriend_ , and he got me these flowers. he moves a little closer on the couch. richie, seemingly emboldened by the movement, closes the gap. he wraps an arm around his shoulder and eddie leans into the touch. 

"this is weird," richie says after a little while. his voice is so soft, eddie almost doesn't hear it over the show they're watching. it's not something eddie's really been paying attention to, but he's pretty sure it's something about storage units and very angry men. he's too busy focusing on the way richie's chest moves when he breathes.

"a little," eddie says, and then leans further into his chest. he can hear richie's breath hitch and even out again, like he's willing himself to keep cool under extreme circumstances. eddie kind of wants to laugh. richie shouldn't be freaking out. eddie's been waiting for this moment his entire life. eddie should be the one struggling to breathe. but he never really did have asthma, did he? just another thing to hold him back from what he really wants. "but it's good."

"yeah," richie says, and squeezes him a little tighter. the position they're in is, objectively speaking, uncomfortable. their thighs are pressed together and sweaty and eddie's neck is kind of at an uncomfortable angle, but the fact that he's touching richie is enough. he shuffles until he can get his arm out from where it's trapped in between them and slides it behind richie's back, wrapping his free arm around his front and clasping his hands together. richie actually stops breathing for a second.

"you wanna put on a movie?" eddie says, almost just to make sure richie is actually still alive underneath him. richie lets out a breath and eddie silently cheers.

"i don't really want to move at all, dude."

eddie, surprised, lets out a laugh that's almost entirely air and barely any noise. richie laughs in return, but it's a little clipped. he pauses, considering something, and then cranes his neck and kisses at the top of eddie's head so softly eddie barely feels it. he smiles, wide-eyed, and thinks to himself that he probably looks a little manic.

after a second or two of internal screaming, he does his best to look up at richie from the position he's in. he mostly gets double chin and up-nose, highlighted horribly by the faint flashing light of the television. richie visibly cringes and tries to hide some of it, but eddie literally could not care less.

"use your fancy remote with the netflix button, it's literally right there." he says, and gestures with his head towards the other end of the couch. richie raises an eyebrow and turns. uses his free hand to reach for it (it's a little bit of an effort, but he makes it when eddie loosens his grip on his waist) and the show they were watching shifts into the dark black and red of the netflix logo.

"what do you wanna see?" richie says, and eddie stops following the line of richie’s jaw with his eyes and looks back at the screen. he can feel richie shift a little to attempt a more comfortable position, and he moves along with him to accommodate. he knocks their ankles together once they settle. "aw, wait, are you still fucked up by horror? you think you can handle that?"

"fuck you," eddie says, and lets go of his own hand so he can smack at richie's thigh. he can feel richie loosen up, a bit, the rigid lines of his body becoming less tense and more in tune with the whole cuddling situation. he wraps the arm back around him and continues: "i can handle horror, dipshit, i was 12 last time."

"yeah, so was i. but i'm not the one who had nightmares for weeks." richie's smug. eddie isn't sure if he wants to kiss or smack the grin off his face. he settles for the middleground: not moving at all and continuing to argue.

"you didn't have nightmares? it was the thing, richie, everybody had nightmares about that fucking movie. the way it moved, rich --"

"yeah, yeah, whatever." he sounds nonchalant, but the arm wrapped around eddie pulls him a little closer to his chest, like he's protecting him. eddie doesn't need protection, not anymore, but maybe richie needs to feel like he's protecting something. "you wanna watch a horror flick or not? look," richie says, and points to the screen with the remote in his hand, "cabin in the woods is on this, dude, that movie's cool as hell."

eddie huffs. he does kind of want to watch that. "fine."

"hell yeah. lights on or off?" 

"off," eddie says, and then looks past richie and out the large glass window that leads to his backyard. the bushes at the back of his property are swaying in the wind, and if he stares long enough, it almost looks like -- he shivers. "yeah, off."

"alright then," richie smiles, and then turns his lights off with an app on his fucking phone. smart lights. eddie both absolutely despises the concept of them and is infinitely grateful for the fact that richie can turn them off without moving an inch. richie clicks up the volume a few notches and tosses the remote back to it's previous home of halfway across the couch.

eddie, cursed by the misfortune of jet lag, starts falling asleep around the third or fourth death. in the middle of his laughter about the tragic comedy aspect of the motorcycle crash scene, his yawn is loud and rudely interrupts whatever point richie's trying to argue.

"you tired, baby?" richie says, and then immediately makes the white person face again. eddie pulls back just enough to make eye contact, arms still loosely held around richie’s waist. richie doesn’t look back, eyes trained very carefully on the screen. "uh, man?"

"nope, no, you said it."

"i didn't say shit, shut up," richie says, and starts to attempt to wrestle his way out of eddie's grip. eddie is relentless and definitely, despite richie's size advantage, stronger than him by a decent amount. they wrestle and play fight and swear at each other until eddie's successfully got richie halfway pinned underneath him, chests heaving with heavy breaths. richie's glasses are askew -- eddie uses the hand that isn't balancing him to slide them back into place.

"thanks," richie says.

"no problem, baby," eddie teases, pushing himself back into a sitting position. richie groans, covers his face with his palms and pushes his glasses (that eddie JUST fixed!) up into his hair. eddie seats himself fully onto richie's thighs with a huff. he hasn’t changed out of his shorts since his trip to the airport, and insanely, eddie kind of wishes they were touching skin to skin. not used to feelings of genuine love and desire, not sure how to feel things right, he worries he kind of sounds like a serial killer. someone in the movie is screaming bloody murder.

"sorry," richie says, muffled by his palms. eddie's face falls.

"what? why?"

"i don't know, i'm way better at this shit when you're not like," he pauses, shakes his head a little bit, "here? i'm acting like a freak." 

"you always act like a freak," eddie says, and richie mumbles something like 'wow, thanks', but eddie's not finished. he puts his hand on richie’s waist and rubs his thumb in a circle just above his hipbone,a movement that he hopes is comforting, "i don't love you in spite of that, moron."

richie makes a garbled noise and squeezes the hands on his face into fists. eddie grabs at his wrists and makes an attempt to pull them away, but he's afraid if he pulls any harder than he already is richie will punch himself in the fucking face. "dude, stop, let me do this,” he says, huffing out a little frustrated noise.

richie lets him pull his hands away from his face, but he keeps his eyes firmly closed. eddie sighs.

"i love you," richie makes another noise, and eddie laughs a little bit, "i'm alright. can we watch the movie? we're missing something, uh," eddie turns to the screen, but he's met with nothing that makes sense out of context: why is their RV underwater? anyway, "the underwater shit, come on." there's no heat to his words. richie opens his eyes.

"yeah, okay," he says, and whips up, grabs eddie by the shoulders, and pulls him down quickly, eddie’s head smacking down hard against his chest. they both make a noise of discomfort and pain from the sudden movement, (“richie, why!” "sorry, what the fuck,") but settle comfortably eventually. eddie stretches his legs out as far as they'll go until his feet hit the armrest. richie reaches up and runs a hand through eddie’s hair, practically petting it.

"i love you too," richie says, so soft eddie feels it more than hears it, and eddie smiles hard against richie's chest until the scene with the elevators freaks him out enough to break through his love-induced trance.

the rest of the movie goes off without a hitch -- eddie doesn't fall asleep, much to both richie's and his own surprise, so they untangle themselves. richie grabs a snack and a glass of water for eddie from the kitchen while eddie melts into the couch. jet lag is really catching up on him, now, and it's only 10pm. he looks out the window and, as nonchalantly as he can, watches for any movement until richie gets back. his reflection in the window almost makes eddie jump out of his skin.

"thought you said you were fine with horror," richie says. his voice is barely on the edge of teasing, more tired sounding than anything else. eddie takes the cup of water from him gratefully and watches as richie sits back down and tears into the packet of pretzels.

"i am," eddie says. he spares one last glance at the window -- nothing’s there -- before he turns to face richie fully. "i swear to god, dipshit. what are you staring for?"

"yeah, whatever," richie smiles, "i don't know."

eddie smiles back. richie eats and they chat for a little while, eddie tells him about the plane ride (boring, normal) and richie mentions offhandedly some jokes from his new set. it's nothing set in stone, yet, but it's bound to be good. at least, eddie thinks so, but richie's not so sure.

“i don’t know, rich, i think it sounds really good. it’s very you,” eddie says, and watches the gears turn in richie’s head as he tries to figure out something to say. eddie knows he’s shooting for self deprecation, but he won’t let him have it: “you’re funny, richie. i would know.”

“you think i’m funny?” richie says, and then the conversation derails from there.

"you wanna head to bed?" richie says, after a moment or two of comfortable silence. his pretzel bag, empty now, flaps in the wind of the fan as it lays on the table. quickly, like he’s said something wrong, he adds: "you've gotta be exhausted."

"i am," eddie says. "yeah, let's."

they head upstairs. richie does this grand gesture at the beginning of the staircase with a bow and an offer for him to go first, but eddie smacks him gently upside the head and says something like 'you're just gonna stare at my ass' before doing exactly what richie wants him to. they brush their teeth side by side, and eddie even laughs when richie does the stupid rabies joke he's done a million fucking times.

as they're walking out the doorway, richie stops. he turns to look at eddie and he has this weirdly intense look on his face, and eddie thinks for an insane moment that he's going to be attacked. he moves to take a step back and clear some space between them when richie's hand lands on his shoulder, effectively stopping him from moving at all.

"richie?" eddie says, a little hesitant. richie nods. "uh, what's up?"

"i wanted to kiss you at the airport," richie says, and eddie's heart drops. his stomach twists. neither of these are particularly bad or new feelings, but they are unusual at this scale. he’s felt them before, on phone calls where richie’s voice will go all quiet and he’ll say something genuinely sincere, like ‘ _i really miss you_ ’ or ‘ _i wish you were here_ ’. eddie stabilizes himself before he says anything.

"why didn't you?"

"freaked out, i guess," richie says. his face relaxes a little. he averts eye contact, finally, but now all eddie wants is for richie to look at him. "i've been thinking about it all night."

"you could've," eddie says, and apparently that's exactly what richie needed. he surges forward and closes the gap between them in one amazingly smooth movement. eddie's arms move without his permission and wrap themselves around richie's shoulders, his left hand tangles in his hair. the kiss is closed mouth and gentle, but already better than any other kiss eddie's had before. it feels like coming home.

richie’s arms, previously held limply at his side save for the little support he got from the hand on eddie’s shoulder, move to wrap around the small of his back and pull him closer. eddie almost passes out. their bodies are pressed together perfectly, and he feels this tinge of satisfaction not very different than how it feels to click the last puzzle piece in place, completing the picture. when all the lines blend together and it barely looks like a puzzle at all, just one whole piece of wood or metal with a beautiful design.

eddie, ready to deepen the kiss and take this to the next level, whines involuntarily when richie pulls away. he doesn't go far, just enough to make eye contact. eddie can practically see the flecks of individual color in his eyes this close up. he’s not sure if richie can say the same, at some point his glasses were pushed up into his hair. eddie can’t remember if he’s far-sighted or near-sighted. 

richie laughs.

eddie laughs because richie's laughing.

richie laughs louder. both of them keel over, almost knocking heads and practically collapsing into a pile of long-awaited joy. _jesus fucking christ_ , eddie thinks, _it was so simple. a grade school kiss. and yet,_ eddie thinks, as he watches richie wipe his eyes and try to recover, _it was so, so worth the wait._

"okay," richie says, and then kisses him one more time for good measure. eddie laughs into it, holds him there for a second longer. "okay!" he says, finally pulling away. "let's go to bed, your eye-bags cannot physically get any darker."

eddie hums. he grabs onto the back of richie's sleep shirt and follows him through the bedroom until he physically can't anymore. climbs into his side (his side!!) of the bed and waits for richie to climb under the covers before latching back onto him. richie smiles. he pulls his glasses off (it takes a minute, they’re a little tangled in his hair) and clicks off the lamp on his bedside table.

it takes a moment for the two of them to adjust to a comfortable sleeping position, but eddie ends up similar to where he was on the couch: with his face pressed up against richie's chest, but now with their legs are tangled together. richie's arms, one under his head like a pillow and one wrapped around eddie’s back, are soft but firm. eddie grins against richie's chest. he feels fucking insane. this is the best day of his life. screw fucking saving the world. screw the fucking clown. screw airports, and airplanes, and the distance between them that's kept them apart for so long. he doesn't care about any of that, not anymore. he's got richie. and richie's got him.

"goodnight," eddie says, muffled in the fabric of richie's tee shirt. richie murmurs his response, already half asleep himself. eddie's so in love he can't take it.

he falls asleep like that, in the cradle of richie’s arms, listening to the gentle rhythm of his breath combined with the beating of his heart.

_“red is for love, obviously, because you know me. but it’s also for courage: something i didn’t have until you showed me how to hold it. peach is appreciation. i still can’t believe i get to have you at all, let alone like this, so forgive me if i say thank you too much. i really mean it. pink is, too. also eternal happiness, or whatever. i hope we get to have that. god knows we deserve it. lavender? i’ll tell you, but you gotta promise you won’t make fun of me after you read this. you promise? pinkie swear? love at first sight. i told you, it’s gross. but it’s me. love you, eds.”_

_yours always,_

_richie._

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @transkaspbrak !! come yell with me


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